


Flash Fiction

by NoveltyToy



Series: A Series of Seriously Bad Decisions [8]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Spectacular Spider-Man (Cartoon), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Bullying, Fic within a Fic, M/M, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Drama, Unfinished and unlikely to ever be finished, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoveltyToy/pseuds/NoveltyToy
Summary: This can be read as a standalone piece, but it was written with the intention of including it as a Side Story in my "Bad Decisions" Series as "Real Person Fiction" written by one of Harry's classmates (with at least some of the content being based on true events). I had Flash in mind when I wrote it, but it could potentially be written by someone else. It utilizes a 2nd person POV and intentionally attempts to obscure some hints about the identity of the writer and contains details that are warped by the narrator's personal bias and incomplete/compromised memories. I am personally imagining the content being written as part of a journalling exercise that's intended to be therapeautic. Mostly just an excuse for me to experiment with another writing style and explore yet another potential subplot.





	1. Introduction

He was just your everyday, ordinary, unremarkable teenage boy. Sure, he was smart. Top of his class. Some might call him an egghead, a nerd, a damn goody two shoes, your classic know-it-all and obedient teacher’s pet.  

His name was Peter Benjamin Parker, but most of the other boys in his class referred to him as Puny Parker. They thought him a dickless little wunderkind destined for nothing more than a life of endless studying and tedious lab work. No one envied him. No one even liked him. Only one other boy in the whole school could tolerate his presence well enough to make use of that overripe brain, and that boy was Harry Osborn.

Harry was the son of a billionaire, his father dominated the fields of science and technology after founding a multinational corporation that made big promises about changing the world, _“advancing the future”_ was the Osborn Corporation’s slogan as it was listed on billboards. And so Harry Osborn learned to appreciate raw intelligence, even when it resided in such pitiful people as Puny Parker.

Their friendship began with one grand gesture. Harry stepped up and intervened one day when a couple hot headed jocks were harassing Peter.

“He’s under my protection now. You mess with him, you mess with me.”

Now, the thing you need to understand about Harry is - despite being a lightweight, he can still throw one hell of a punch. Worse than that, he has this natural born authority that he wields like a weapon. Osborn is a powerful name and Harry knows it.

So the student athletes backed off, but not before a few brawls broke out. They learned their lesson the hard way, _don’t fuck with Harry Osborn._ After a fight with the heir to OsCorp, stitches were the least of their concerns. He wouldn’t just bust the bully’s face in and leave him bruised. The battles wouldn’t end in the nurse’s office, Harry’s combat skills extended far beyond the realm of physical dust-ups.

Despite - _or maybe because of -_ the rich kid’s lofty position of superiority over the rest of the student body, he was able to walk through the crowds like a god. From his position atop the social ladder, he could irrevocably change your life by greasing the metaphorical rungs to watch you slip and fall. He had that very grounding effect on a lot of his peers. The gossip girls understood this and they would all lean in if he deigned to grace them with the glory of his presence. And whenever he had a story to tell about anyone, true or not, it would spread like wildfire until their whole world was burned to ash and soot.

With a life left in utter ruins and almost no idea when or how things went so wrong… it would be easy to blame that evil mastermind for arranging your downfall. Vengeance is a tempting thought, but often a futile one in this case. Osborn is untouchable, after all. Then the misery would set in. The regrets. It had been so foolish, _what else did you expect to happen?_

You can start a fight with anyone, but if you fuck with Harry Osborn then he will always be the one to finish it. There may even come a point when the only sense of control you have left lies in your ability to end your own life. The only power you have to stop the suffering would come with the terrible price of stopping everything. _And who would even try to stop you?_

Harry Osborn. That beautiful, _smug_ little bastard. He’s been letting you wallow for weeks, and he’s been watching. Not all the time, mind you, he’s not obsessive. You’re not worth his attention on a good day, but you’ve felt his gaze just often enough to know that he hasn't forgotten about you. Of course, you feel inclined to assume the worst, that his only intent is to silently lord his victory over you and admire the sight of your defeat. But then he approaches you. Later, in the hall, when you’d reached your lowest low and you were stuck in a horrible loop of grief thinking about how you were all alone. He steps away from the crowd, the one that’s been treating you like a pariah, and he extends an olive branch.

It's something simple, that’s all it is. He says your name, offers you a smile. At first, you can’t believe that it’s really you that he’s speaking to. But then he does it again, he says your name.

“You’ve seemed out of it lately, are you okay?” and there’s no trace of hostility or residual anger at all. Here he is, the boy - _the young man_ that ruined your life and he’s concerned for you.

“I know," he says, "I’ve been dragging my feet with this big history project, and the stress of midterms creeping closer is getting to me, too.” His words don’t make sense to you at first, but then he locks his gaze with yours and you both know that the stress you’ve been under has nothing to do with midterms. “I _, uhh,_  shoot. The next bell is about to ring. I’ll see you around later _,_ yeah? _And hey,"_ he touches your shoulder, it's only a casual, reassuring gesture but it's the only friendly physical contact that you've had with anyone in over a month. "Um, don’t worry too much about this latest slump. Things are going to get better.” And then he’s gone and you can’t remember if you ever even managed to say anything.

And the crazy thing is, yeah, things start to get better. After he starts publicly acknowledging you again, even just in passing, it’s as if this invisible barrier that’s been separating you from everyone else has been broken… or more accurately, it ceases to be, almost as if it was never there to begin with. But you _know_ it was. You felt it everyday for weeks. And now you’re not sure if this was a stunning act of mercy on his part or if maybe - _maybe_ \- Harry actually does care _about_ you, _specifically._

You banish the thought. Bury it within the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind, because there is absolutely _no way_ that the brilliant, beautiful son of a billionaire would fall in love with the school bully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: this story is meant to be written from the POV of an allistic boy and the character goes on a bit of a tirade where he misinterprets Autistic!Peter's behavior. I understand that this could be read as malicious towards people that exhibit some of the behaviors/characteristics described, but I was using this writing exercise as an opportunity to explore a perspective different than my own - for my own benefit of understanding how my behaviors might have unintentionally led to fractured friendships in my youth (and beyond). Recognizing how my allistics friends might have felt slighted helps me to let go of my own angst and regret when thinking back on all the friendships that "faded out" without explanation.
> 
> Additionally, mentions of a dying mother and an abusive father.

You know it’s a bad idea. Starting trouble with Peter always _always_ riles up Harry, but maybe now that’s become the whole point. You like seeing that side of him, don’t you? All fierce and protective, you only wish that you had someone as devoted to _you_ as he seems to be devoted to Puny Penis Parker.

Of all people, _why him?_ You can’t wrap your head around it. _What does Harry see in that loser?_ So what if he’s book smart, _big whoop._  Plenty of people are good at math and stuff, doesn't mean they're good people. Doesn't mean they deserve to have someone as beautiful and generous as Harry devoted to keeping them safe and happy. _It's not fair._

What good does Peter's big brain do Harry anyhow? The whole point of smart friends is to have them, _ahem_ , 'help'with homework. That's how the whole friendship started with those two, isn't it? Parker offered to help Harry raise his grades. _Yeah,_ well, _awful_ lot of good _that_ does when Peter Parker's immense brain often keeps him so scattered that he can't even come through for a study date with the one boy in the whole school that still likes him.

How many times does Peter have to bail on him before Harry realizes that Pete isn't worth the angst? From where you’re standing, Peter was always a shitty friend, and you’re not just saying that. You and Pete  _used_ to be friends, a long _long_ time ago.

If you’re honest, there’s a teeny tiny part of yourself that still hurts when you think about how he abandoned you. _For no reason at all._ Your mother had been in the hospital battling cancer while your father, the damn near mythical police hero you'd barely even met, was suddenly thrust into a more active role in your life. Dad wasn't the person you'd thought him to be, not the hero your mother had told you fantastic stories about.

Maybe the Dad she talked about was a different person. Maybe he couldn't deal with the stress and it changed him. His work had been difficult enough without having to come home to a mess, three kids, staggering medical bills and the harsh reality of a dying wife. That sort of pressure could wear even the best of men down. Or maybe he was never much of a nice person to begin with. You don't know, you can't. There's no way to ever know for certain, and your heart aches a little anytime you stop to contemplate what could've been. 

Thinking back on it, you have no idea what the truth was, but you had never felt so alone in your entire life. Your whole world had been falling apart at the seams, and your best friend in the whole world decided to just up and leave. Peter just  _disappeared,_ without so much as a semi-decent farewell or a word as to why he suddenly didn't want to hangout anymore.

 _Then_   _again,_ what explanation was even required at that point?  _Of course,_ Peter Parker would rather go play with his fucking science kits than waste time or effort to go out of his own way for a grieving friend. Pete never really put any effort into maintaining your friendship even when times were good. You were always the one that had to approach him and invite him over to play games. Peter wouldn't even stop to say hi when you passed each other in the halls. The only thing Peter ever cared about were those _special_ _obsessions_ he was always going on _and on_ about.

You start to worry now. Harry doesn’t realize what he's in for.  _Sure,_ on the outside, Peter looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly. He's all mousey, quiet, and flinches if you so much as raise your voice around him. But deep down _you know_  he's the devious sort of bastard that would delight in the opportunity to ensnare any poor creature that wanders too close. You don't see it coming with him. The damage he does is subtle at first, you wouldn't even realize that he's caught you. Then he just starts picking away until nothing is left but a dry husk. 

It's only a matter of time before Peter finally breaks Harry's heart. You’re not really sure if you’re looking forward to the day. You hope that when it happens, as it eventually will, that you’ll be somewhere near enough to help Harry pick up the pieces.

 _Sure,_ Harry likes to _act_ tough. He knows how to take a hit and words can't touch him. Harry has this cool, calm and collected facade that he wears around like armor, and whenever there's a crack, the boy bleeds rage. All becomes seething hate until you get out of his face. It took more than a few confrontations between the two of you before you ever learned how to see past the blinding waves of fury. But now you _know_ that's just another layer of protection. All it took was one glimpse of the naked, vulnerable boy underneath and now you can't  _unsee_ the vast depths of pain he tries to hide.

It's only then that you realize why a kid with all the social priveleges of Harry Osborn would ever stoop so low as to viciously protect a total nobody like Peter Parker. Because Harry isn't the boy he pretends to be. He's screwed up inside. Harry must think that if he can help someone as pathetic as Peter, then maybe there's some hope that he can also fix himself in the process. 

And you start to think that you might have more in common with Harry Osborn than you originally thought, because you remember why you were drawn into being friends with Peter in the first place. Peter Parker had always been a shy, broken little boy. You used to feel that same urge to protect him that Harry probably feels now. But it isn’t fair. Peter _takes, takes, takes,_ and he never _gives._ At least, never enough to replace all the time and energy you've wasted on him.

Anger sets in, offsetting and overshadowing every other feeling in your heart. You want to crush him. You want to see him suffer for what he put you through, and what _you know_ he’ll eventually do to Harry.

“Chill,” your friends tell you. “Lay off the dweebs,” they say, “Are you trying to get suspended? _Expelled?”_ Your father would bust your ass if you let that happen, and then he’d probably send you off to boot camp. That is, if Harry’s father didn’t murder you first.

Oh, _yeah._ You _wish_ that was an exaggeration. 

You actually met Norman Osborn once. The man, the myth, the legend. He approached you after one of your varsity games. That night you were lagging behind everyone else, your dad got caught up at work and you’d already turned down getting a ride home with one of your friends. The thought of walking didn’t bother you too much. You thought the fresh air would do you some good, even if you were feeling a tad sluggish and sore after the hard fought victory.

Norman had two men with him. The driver never even glanced in your direction. The bodyguard was paying more attention to the surroundings.

Norman called out your name when he spotted you. He had a picture in his hand that he held up for comparison. Nodding to himself when he seemed satisfied that he’d found his target.

“Who’s asking?” It was the appropriate question to ask at the time, you didn’t recognize him, but you must’ve at least suspected. Who else would drive up to the school in a luxury car like that?

“Harry Osborn’s father. I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Just one?” it was a cheeky response and not a particularly funny one, judging by the glare it earned you.

“Several, actually. Unless you’d prefer that I take the matter directly to your father.”

And _no,_ you definitely didn’t want that to happen. You shuffled your feet and looked around for an escape, but everyone else was already cleared out by then except for a few stragglers that you'd trust even less than this guy. _Dammit,_ this is what you get for lingering, thinking you could enjoy the win longer if you avoided the harsh reality that always sets in when you get home. It's not even as if Dad is there waiting for you tonight, but you just  _had_ to stay away for a little breather anyhow. _S_ _tupid, stupid, stupid._ You should at least try not to make this any worse by getting Dad dragged off his job to come sort this out. 

 _“Alright,_ so what’s the problem then?” You directed the question to Mr. Osborn, but your eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the hulk of a man standing next to him. The guy was packing serious heat and you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you a bit nervous. There wasn't just a gun in the holster, either, and who knows what the standard issue equipment is for the CEO of OsCorp's security force.

“Get in the car. We’ll discuss it when we get there.”

“And where is that?” You did _not_ want to get in the car with them. Nothing about this felt right. Him being here, only approaching you after almost everyone else was gone, _how did he even know you'd still be here?_ And he stood there with the gall to act as if _he_ was the one being inconvenienced. 

“You can sit in the back with me, or Rex here can stuff you in the trunk.”

 _Woah._ “I am _not_ going anywhere with you.”

“Rex,” Norman spoke dismissively and disappeared into the vehicle. Meanwhile the muscle pulled out what at first glance appeared to be a billy club. 

“Don’t run,” Rex said. He didn’t make a move toward you, so you paused to consider your options. Even with the surge of adrenaline in your blood, you weren’t liking your chances against this guy. “If I have to chase you, I’m going to be really pissed off.” You watched the grip he had tighten on the club and then he must've flicked a switch or something because you could've sworn you just saw that thing spark. “And when I get mad, I don't just aim to incapacitate. _I break things._ Maybe an arm or a leg, but probably your hands. It’s going to be real hard to ever throw a ball again by the time I’m done with you. That is, unless you want to play nice and sit in the back with Mr. Osborn.”

 _“Yeah_ … yeah, okay.” something about the look in that man’s eyes made it difficult to tell if he was lying. You got the feeling that maybe this guy liked getting angry and would be happy to have an excuse to beat on your sorry, stupid ass. “Back off, calm down,” you tried to wave him away, diffuse the situation as much as you could. “We’re cool, everything’s fine. He just wants to talk, right? Why would I have to run from a conversation anyway? You guys know my dad is a cop, right?”

Rex opened the door for you and you slid into the seat next to Mr. Osborn. He was checking something on his phone, and was completely unfazed by the fact that you’d decided to join him after all.

“Drive,” he demanded after Rex took shotgun. Apparently they must’ve already discussed the where earlier. Norman slid the phone back into his pocket a couple moments later. “I’d tell you not to be scared, but that would defeat the point of this entire exercise.”

You said nothing. Your heart was in your throat. What the heck were you even supposed to say to something like that?

“But you can relax a little,” he said your name and it was probably supposed to be reassuring but the sound of it rolling off his tongue made your skin crawl. “Your father knows where you are.”

“He does?”

“Well, _not where,_ but I informed him of my intention to collect you for this private chat.”

“Then _what the hell_ was the threat to stuff me in the trunk for, _huh?”_

Norman chuckled. “Your father’s suggestion, actually. He thought it would be funny.”

 _“Hardy har har,”_ you grumble. “By all means, scare me half to death, it’s fine, just so long as someone gets a laugh out of it."

“As I understand it, he’s not above _roughing you up a bit,_ if it’s to teach you a valuable lesson.” Norman’s expression was unreadable as his gaze swept over you. “My father had a similar policy, and it’s one that I prefer to avoid implementing myself unless absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, _some people_ just aren’t capable of learning the lesson any other way. The question I face now is, are _you_ one of those people?” He addressed you by name again, and you definitely decided that you hated the way it sounded coming from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if this or any other aspects of my series interest you. I'm open to the idea of involving co-authors or beta readers to help me out since I keep creating more ground that I want to cover. I love bouncing ideas off of people and I wouldn't mind at all if people wanted to bounce some of their ideas off of me.


End file.
